


still afraid of flying (but with you i'd die today)

by n0pe



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 05:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4048045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n0pe/pseuds/n0pe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m supposed to kill you, you know.”</p>
<p>Zayn is a hitman, Louis is his target. Love is a complication.</p>
            </blockquote>





	still afraid of flying (but with you i'd die today)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KelliDiane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelliDiane/gifts).



> i know this deviates somewhat from the prompt and besides that it's a million years late, which i am so so sorry for, but i hope you still enjoy it, lovely prompter! i know it might read a little rushed, but that's probably because it was :( i had a whole backstory i wanted to add and a lil more of liam and niall (and harry, oops, he's not even in this) but unfortunately i couldn't fit it in. 
> 
> title is from yeasayer - i remember
> 
> ps there are some mentions of mild violence in this fic but none of it is on-screen, so i have not warned for it. please tell me if you feel that i should, and i'll change it.

 

“Hey.” Zayn’s pulled out of his thoughts as Louis steps through the back door and into the little alleyway, coming to sit next to Zayn.

“Hey.”

“You done smoking?” Louis asks, voice soft, like he knows how conflicted Zayn is feeling right now.

“Nah, pack’s just empty.”

“Want one of mine?” Louis offers, even though he smokes menthols and he knows Zayn doesn’t like the taste of them. Zayn nods and takes one anyway, plucking Louis’ own cigarette out of his mouth to light it. It takes a few tries as it’s a windy night and Zayn can’t be bothered to lift his other hand and cup it around the cigarette so that it doesn’t flicker out as easily.

“Thanks”

They smoke in silence. Zayn is grateful for the extra fag but the menthol taste is only adding to his nausea, and it’s hard to keep from scowling. He came out here to calm his mind but it’s not working and he knows why; it’s Louis, of course. He came to get away from Louis, to get his thoughts about him in order and it’s not helping that the very person he’s trying to make sense of is sitting right next to him, confusing him even more.

Zayn lets out a long sigh. He moves his hand to rest over the gun hidden beneath his suit jacket, and he can feel his erratic heartbeat through his shirt. The anvil is pressing down hard on his chest, nearly suffocating him now.  He could just be honest, tell Louis everything. He could even do _it_ now, just pull the trigger without saying anything, get it over with.

_You’ll never do it,_ a little voice in the back of his mind says. _It’s ridiculous that you’re even trying to make yourself believe it. You’re not gonna do it just like that, you’re not ever gonna do it._ It’s just that he’s a professional, or meant to be one anyway. He’s meant to be able to ignore his feelings, turn off all emotion, and so far he’s been pretty damn good at it. Normally, he just doesn’t care, not like he does now.

Louis moves a little closer, pressing their thighs together. Zayn can feel the warmth of his skin through their trousers, bleeding through slowly until it’s the only part of his body he can focus on, the only thing he can feel.

Might as well just say it, before the anvil crushes him.

“I’m supposed to kill you, you know.”

\--

There are many things Zayn dislikes about his occupation, if you can call it that, but the general lack of human interaction it requires is not one of them. In fact, it may even be his favourite thing about the job. Or well, his favourite thing besides staying alive. That’s pretty good too.

So yes, the three consecutive days he’s now spent on his couch, blinds drawn and TV on mute, stash within arm’s reach and ashtray full are not unprecedented, though still fully appreciated. That is, until the mellow silence around him is interrupted by the shrill tone of his work phone going off, signalling a text message has arrived. He knows what that means.

Back to business.

_big 1 dont fuk up ask n for more details_ the text reads. It’s signed ‘P’, unnecessarily, and Zayn lets out a sigh before getting up from underneath his mountain of duvets and blankets. If it really is a big job, he’d better ring Niall right away, get the details and start planning. Up and at ‘em.

\--

_sure bro be there in 40_ is Niall’s answer when Zayn texts him to come over, so he takes that time to tidy up a bit. Niall has seen his flat in far worse conditions but Zayn knows if he doesn’t do it now, he may not feel the motivation to clean up his shit for weeks, and if the text is to believe, he’s going to be busy.  He’s feeling pretty reluctant about this upcoming job, more than how he normally feels about going back to work. There’ something deeper worrying him, some sort of gut feeling maybe. It’s unsettling Zayn, but before he can get too deep into thought he’s interrupted by insistent banging on his flat door.

“You really need to get your doorbell fixed, mate.” Niall is smiling wide and holding his arms out, and though Zayn isn’t generally a hugging person he makes an exception this time. Niall is a damn good hugger.

“Hello to you too.” It’s meant to sound sarcastic, but Zayn can’t help the fondness from seeping through slightly as he’s pressed into Niall.

“Yeah, yeah, no need to be bitchy. I know you love me, Z.”

\--

“So what has Payne told you about the gig so far?” They’ve gotten through two frozen pizzas and half a six pack of ciders and Zayn knew this question was coming. The catching up part of the evening is over now.

“Not much. He told me it was big, but that was about it.”

“Well, he wasn’t lying. It’s a really big job, Z, this one’s gonna take some real effort.” Niall looks kind of pained by it, though Zayn has never found him to be one to dislike their occupation. Maybe he feels it too, the same uneasiness that’s been bothering Zayn since this morning. Maybe it’s something about this particular job.

“Who’s the target, then?” Zayn asks, trying to seem casual, not wanting to belie how bad this is already sitting with him.

“A Louis Tomlinson. Ever heard of him?” Zayn shakes his head no.

“He’s around our age, Yorkshire lad, rich bloke. Thought you might’ve heard of him, he’s in the rags every so often. Rich kids make for pretty good b-list gossip, apparently. His parents are in a lot of debt, but that’s not exactly public knowledge. Anyway, the idea is that you get close to him: find some shared interest or something, bat those eyelashes of yours, I don’t know, but get his trust.”

“Why? Why not just bribe his driver and shoot him in the car or something?”

“Well, like I said, he’s a rich bloke, and one with a paranoid father at that. Security round the fella is so tight you’d get your face kicked in for even trying to talk to his driver.”

“So how am I supposed to get close to him if he’s so heavily guarded?” Zayn still isn’t feeling so good about this. The doubt that was niggling at the back of his mind before is only growing, but he tries to ignore it.

“Oh, Payne took care of that, mostly.” Niall hands him a black leather-bound file and when Zayn only gives him a questioning look he sighs and opens the thing in Zayn’s hand. It contains a fake ID with the photo that Liam took of him half a year ago, a folded manila envelope he doesn’t feel the particular need to open and a stack of twenty pound notes.

“Your name’s now Michael, you’re the son of a celebrated songwriter who greatly values his privacy but isn’t too ashamed to use his connections to get his son in with the rich crowd.” Niall drones, obviously repeating someone else’s words.

“Michael, really? Do I look like a Michael?”

“Ah, Zaynie, come on, don’t forget that Payno’s the one who came up with that, eh? I love that boy but he’s not the best with this kind of stuff, you know that.”

Zayn has to supress a giggle at that; it really is true that Liam can be a bit clueless sometimes. Extremely efficient in most ways, but slightly clueless in some.  

“Alright, so what’s Michael’s occupation, then?”

“Dunno, really. Payno hasn’t come up with one. I guess you could just go for the regular gold-digger attitude people always have at these parties, but he might not fall for that. Maybe act like you want to follow in your father’s footsteps?” Niall says, making air quotations at the word father.

“Yeah, that might be a good idea. Is there a timeframe for the job?” It’s a bit of a dumb question, as there’s always a timeframe for this sort of thing, but he figures he might as well ask.

“Uh-huh. You’re supposed to meet him tomorrow night at this charity function. That’s what the suit I brought is for.” He gestures at the dry-clean bag he’d thrown onto Zayn’s sole living room chair when he came in. “And then you’ve got to get close enough to Tomlinson for him to take you to the gala his family is throwing on the 22nd.” Zayn does the math in his head- the 22nd means he has a little over two weeks. He’s worked with less.

“Alright. So, what do I do on the 22nd?”

“You shoot him.”

Right, okay, Zayn could’ve known that was going to be the answer. “Any particular way I’m supposed to do it?” He tries to sound casual but the ominous feeling is back, though he’s done this type of thing a dozen times now. There’s nothing to be worried about if he just follows the plan. He shakes his head and adjusts his fringe in an attempt to get rid of the feeling, but it doesn’t work.

“No real particulars, just the obvious, you know: make sure you’re not seen, look for cameras, the whole shebang.”

“Why shoot him, though? Why not poison him or something less conspicuous like that?”

“Well, I don’t know the whole of it, you know it’s best not to ask, but I do know big P wants to send a message. A bullet through the head of the eldest son sure as fuck does that.”

\--

Zayn’s suit is itchy. He knows it’s not the thing he should be focussing on right now but he can’t help it: the collar is way too tight and he’s probably going to have a rash on his throat tomorrow. He’d like to blame Niall for it, what with him having brought Zayn the suit in question, but he knows that’s not fair. P has people for this kind of thing, and one of them probably picked out this thing for him. Besides, though it may be itchy, he has to admit it looks anything but ill-fitting. In fact, he looks really good in it, as he should; it’s important he leaves a lasting impression on Louis.

Out of the corner of his eye Zayn can see more guests arriving, and he’s pretty sure one of them is Tomlinson’s sister. Surely Louis will follow soon.

He goes to grab a glass of champagne off a waiter’s tray, hoping it will make him look more like he belongs in this kind of crowd. It must work, because when he spots Tomlinson sliding in next to his sister, clad in a suit jacket and jeans and hair in artful disarray, his eyes are already on Zayn. Louis gives Zayn a once-over that he’s pretty sure no one could call subtle, and he knows he’s in.

The rest of the night, Zayn walks around, speaking to rich husbands with alcohol-ruddy cheeks, kissing middle-aged wives on the hand and fending off their subtle and not-so-subtle advances, and generally putting himself on display. Tomlinson has noticed him, he’s sure of it, so it’s worrying him a bit that he hasn’t approached Zayn yet. Not worrying him _too_ much, of course; Zayn knows what he looks like, knows that’s what these kind of people like. He’ll bite, Zayn just hopes it’s soon. The itchy suit is really beginning to annoy him now.

“You need a better tailor, mate.” He suddenly hears, and when he looks up sharply he’s met with Tomlinson’s cheeky grin, stubby finger pointing to where Zayn was scratching at his collar.

Immediately, Zayn tries to school his face into a more seductive expression, something more like the one he’s been wearing all night. “Yeah, my dad swears by this one. Not sure she got my measurements right this time this time.”

“Well, wrong measurements or not, it still looks _very_ good on you.” Louis does a little eye movement as he says ‘very’, and it’s the kind of thing that Zayn might find endearing under different circumstances. Right now, though, he has to focus. “Wait, who did you say your father was?” Louis follows up, seemingly only now realising what Zayn had said.

“Walter Rees, you might now him?” Zayn blinks a bit, for added seductive effect.

Louis takes a second to answer, clearly distracted by Zayn’s flirting. “Oh, er- yes, my mum might have mentioned him once. Is he here now? Or are you here with someone else?” He asks, and it’s such an obvious line Zayn almost giggles, but he manages to keep his composure.

“Nah, I’m on my own. Dad doesn’t like going out much, but he thought I should go. Opportunities, and all.” Zayn hopes that doesn’t come out too gold digger-like; he’s pretty sure Louis wouldn’t go for that kind of person.

“Ah, yeah, plenty of eh, opportunities around here, shall we say.” Louis says in this wry tone that’s becoming familiar to Zayn. He likes it, likes that Tomlinson doesn’t seem to be as stuck up or as vain as Zayn had expected him to be. It’ll make the job of getting close to him easier, at the very least.

“Yeah, I’m sure there are. Are _you_ here with anyone?”

“Nope,” Louis replies, popping the ‘p’. “Or well, here with my sisters, I suppose, but they’re rather busy with their boyfriends so I won’t bother them. In fact, I was just getting ready to leave.” It’s an obvious in for Zayn, to tell him he was leaving as well, to come with and maybe come in for a cup of coffee as well, but that’s not in Zayn’s plans for tonight. He knows he’s got to keep a bit of mystery still, to make sure Louis will still be interested in two weeks.  Not bite too soon.

“Ah, well, I think I’m gonna stay and finish my drink, mate, but it was nice to meet you. Maybe you can give me some tips on better tailors sometime?” It’s a shameless in, but he knows Louis won’t care.

“Yeah, sure, sounds good. Wait, I’ll give you my number so you can reach me.” He takes Zayn’s phone, which had been in his hand, and starts typing away. His sleeve shifts a bit, and Zayn can make out some tattoos underneath, black in stark contrast with his bronzed skin, and for a second Zayn has to fight the impulse to reach for his arm, trace the tattoo as far as the sleeve will allow, but then Louis moves to give Zayn his phone back and he rids himself of the thought.

There’s a new contact for _LOUIS ;)_ blinking up at him, and he can see that Louis’ called his own phone with Zayn’s so that he has his number as well.

“Well, it’s been nice speaking to you, I’m sure we’ll meet again.” Louis leaves him with a cheeky wink, before striding off towards the door at a brisk pace, to discourage anyone from approaching him before he reaches the exit, Zayn is pretty sure. He’s followed by a big man who must be a security guard- Zayn hadn’t even noticed him standing in the corner, which means he should have been paying more attention.

He’d been distracted though; Louis is more bearable than he’d anticipated. It’s both a good and a bad thing, Zayn muses. It’ll make it easier to pretend to tolerate Tomlison if he doesn’t actually have to pretend at all, but on the other hand, it might make it harder for Zayn to shoot him in the head. It’ll be fine, probably; he’s done this so many times now, has it down almost to a routine, to a mindless act. If he likes the lad, it shouldn’t matter. He’s a professional.

\--

There’s an insistent buzzing to the side of his head that won’t stop, even when he pulls a pillow over his face to muffle the sound. It keeps buzzing and buzzing until Zayn can no longer ignore it, and he finally sits up to assess what he’s going to need to smash up to make it stop when he realises it’s his alarm. Right, normally he never needs one but today he’s determined to do some ground work. It’s been two days since the charity gala, and he’s still not heard from Louis. He generally likes for the marks to come to him first, but if Tomlinson doesn’t bite soon, he’s gonna have to make the first move himself - which he dislikes for more reasons than just that it hurts his vanity.

Zayn slowly drags himself out of bed. He may be a professional now, but that doesn’t mean mustering up the discipline to get up on time is easy for him. That may actually be one of the few things that hasn’t changed about him since- well, since this whole thing started.

His phone buzzes again, then, but this time it’s not an alarm: it’s a text from LOUIS ;). Bingo.

_hey, wanna come for luch? i can show u a propr tailor after!_

It’s not signed, no _x_ , no _louis from the charity gala_ , but that fits with the way Louis seemed when they met: not arrogant but sufficiently confident to survive in a word of egos.

_sure, where do u want to meet up?_

_1 at the crown pub?_

Another text with an address follows, which is good because there must be a dozen pubs called The Crown in the area. One o’clock, that gives Zayn about an hour to get dressed and get to the pub. He’d better hurry.

\--

The Crown is a cosy place, not too crowded and not too trendy, which Zayn likes just fine. It’s intimate, in a way, and he wonders if that’s why Louis picked it out, or if he’s just getting ahead of himself there.

Zayn’s a bit late, because as much as he tries to be professional and arrive on time, it just doesn’t happen most of the time. It annoys Liam to death, usually, which is pretty amusing and not a really good deterrent anyway.

He sits down at a table near the back of the room, where they can look out over the others in the pub, the old men by the bar and the couple with a baby sitting in the window seats, pointing out things on the street to the kid. Suddenly, the kid starts letting out excited little giggles, jumping in her seat and pointing while making babbling noises. When Zayn follows the direction her chubby little finger is pointing in, he sees Louis, making the ugliest face Zayn’s ever seen: his eyes are crossed and his chin is jutting out, lips stretched in an idiotic grin, and he’s pulling at his ears. He moves his hands a few times, flapping his ears, which makes the baby even more excited, before waving goodbye at her and entering the pub. He spots Zayn almost immediately, and comes straight over. The security guard who’s with him stays in front of the door, keeping careful watch, but Louis takes no notice of him.

“Hi mate, nice to see you again!” Louis sounds excited, almost out of breath, as he pulls up a chair and sits down across from Zayn.

“Yeah, good to see you.” Zayn tries to sound appropriately happy, but all of a sudden the heavy feeling in his chest has returned, keeping the smile from reaching his eyes. Still, he tries, and probably succeeds at least partially, because Louis smiles back.

“Shall I go order?” He asks, and after Zayn tells him what he’d like Louis moves to the bar to get them some drinks.

They talk pretty much the whole time until their food is brought to them, and even in between eating the conversation never falls flat. Zayn’s relieved about that as he’s not exactly a chatterbox and though he tries, sometimes conversations are like exercise to him: boring and exhausting. With Louis, however, it’s easy. They talk about family (or well, Zayn lies about his family, but it’s not that hard to keep up as Louis spends about three quarters of the time describing his sisters in the fondest way) and their careers (where, again, Zayn doesn’t tell the truth, but saying ‘I’m a hitman’ isn’t really an option) and their best friends (where Zayn doesn’t need to lie, Niall and Liam are amazing).

Louis spends most his time either talking or with food in his mouth, but there’s a few times where he’s not doing either of those things, just looking at Zayn with a kind of closed off expression on his face. Not a bad expression, per se, but an unreadable one nonetheless. It makes Zayn kind of squirmy, but the looks are gone as soon as they came, and he just resolves not to pay too much attention to them.

When they’re both done with their food, Zayn goes to stand up, but Louis gives him a strange look. “Where are you going?”

“Uh, well, I thought we were going to see your tailor?” Zayn says, a bit unsure now. That was what he had said, right?

“Oh, right. Yeah, that was kind of an excuse to get you to come and have lunch with me.” Louis answers shamelessly, shrugging. The big grin is back on his face, and his eyes sparkle. “But it worked, so do you want to come back to mine now?”

Does he.

\--

Louis’ place is enormous, but that was to be expected, Zayn supposes. It’s a vast open space, with large windows and little furniture which is artfully arranged to divvy up the room. It’s also a complete fucking mess.

“I’d say ignore the mess, but I’m pretty sure that’s impossible, so.” Louis’ right, even taking a few steps is impossible without taking the risk of overturning a half-empty tea mug or getting stuck in a discarded tee. Zayn isn’t really in much of a position to judge, though, seeing as his own flat is usually a tip.

“It’s fine, bro. My place isn’t much better, to be honest.”

As he has no plans of navigating the sea of junk that is Louis’ apartment, Zayn turns back to face Louis, and tries to give him a seductive look. He’s good at those.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Okay, maybe not that good.

“Uh, nothing mate. So, do you want to watch a movie or something?” Zayn asks, a little thrown off that his go-to move hasn’t worked, but when he turns around to go in the direction Louis pointed out to him, he can see Tomlinson checking out his arse. Not that ineffective after all, then.

They settle on the couch after Louis has cleared it by carelessly throwing all that was on it to the floor, and sit close together but don’t quite touch. They watch some stupid made-for-TV movie, something about a cop on a rampage after his wife was killed, but Zayn can’t focus, too aware of how close they are, of Louis’ hand on the cushions only millimetres away from Zayn’s hair. He shifts a little, so that Louis’ hand cups the back of his head, and when his fingers begin to thread through his hair, he makes an embarrassing happy little noise. Louis looks up sharply at that, staring at Zayn with a serious look, contemplating. It seems like an eternity to Zayn before he leans in, moving steadily closer until their noses are touching and Zayn can feel his breath on his cheek.

“You want this, right?” Louis asks. Zayn nods, just a small movement but it makes his cheek slide against Louis’, their foreheads rub, and he can’t wait any longer- he closes the gap between them.  

Louis is a good kisser, great even compared to the people Zayn has had to endure for this job; he’s not too forceful, nipping softly at Zayn’s bottom lip, holding on with both hands on Zayn’s cheeks. Zayn can feel his stubble scratching his and it’s so _good_ , just for one second he forgets why he’s even doing this, thinks that maybe they’re just two guys who met at a club, or a bar, or the gym, maybe. Just two people who connected, who went home together after a date because they didn’t want to say goodbye yet. He loses himself in the kiss, continuing even he’s panting, more frantically now, and Louis is moving with him, scooting down the couch and lying down so that they’re touching everywhere, chests pressed together with only thin t-shirts separating them.

Eventually, Zayn draws back, and surveys the mess he’s made of Louis: his hair is mussed up, his lips are swollen and he can spot a little bruise forming where he made a detour to Louis’ neck, too tempted to follow the stubble to resist. It’s dangerous- Zayn should be doing the tempting himself, but he just can’t bring himself to care. It’s okay, anyway, he reasons, because this is his job. Seducing Louis was always the plan, and if he’s enjoying it a bit more than he should, well, that’s just a bonus, isn’t it?

(He knows it isn’t but thinking about that brings back the heavy feeling in his chest, makes it spread to his gut so he just- doesn’t.)

 --

When Zayn leaves Louis’ fancy flat a whole day later he’s sated in a way he’s never really been before, and he can’t stop himself from grinning at every stranger that so much as looks at him.

“You’re in deep shit, mate.” Niall pulls him out of his reverie later, giving Zayn a meaningful look from where he’s sitting on Zayn’s couch. “You’ve been staring at your phone for five minutes straight now, mate, and I’ve not seen you smile this much in… well, never, really. Your ‘date’ with Tomlinson go well?”

Zayn quickly puts his phone away, where he’d been staring at a message from Louis asking him if he’d like to come over, and frowns. “Yeah, all went according to plan. I’m seeing him again today.”

“I’m just a bit worried about you, Z. I know you get kind of angsty about the job sometimes, I just want to make sure that’s not happening now.” Niall does genuinely look worried, and Zayn can’t look him in the eye.

“Yeah, I know. I’m fine, though, I promise.” Niall gives him an unbelieving look at that, so he looks him in the eye and promises, “Really.” He sounds more sure than he feels, but he supposes that’s a side-effect of being employed by a criminal organisation. You become pretty good at lying, or you don’t last very long. 

“Alright. But keep me updated on how it’s going, okay? And tell me if you’re not okay, because I can help. Better I find out than P does.”

“I will.” Niall is great, he really is, but Zayn is sure he can do this by himself. “Love you, Ni.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”

\--

It’s now only three days until the gala where he’s supposed to take down Louis, and Zayn can’t sleep. Louis is next to him, arm slung over Zayn’s chest and feet pressed up against his legs. They spent the entire day in bed, sipping tea, fucking desperately, then softly, then desperately again, showering, fucking some more, ordering in and scaring the delivery girl who recognized Louis, watching TV and then conking out. Or well, Louis did, hours ago now. Sleep feels impossible for Zayn right now, however.

The heavy feeling in his chest has been building and building the past few days, the more time he and Louis spend together. When they’re on the couch, lounging and smoking up and Louis playing with his hair, he feels it press down on him until he can’t help but cough, Louis clapping his back like it’ll help. It doesn’t, makes it worse even when Louis gives him a concerned look, kisses him softly and with care.

When they’re out together, buying cigs and beer and macaroni at the Tesco Express Louis turns to look at him, grinning wide and holding up a magazine that says _TOMLINSON SECRET LOVE TRIANGLE?_ in screaming yellow letters. The feeling presses down on him hard then, suffocating him almost, and he’s relieved when Louis turns away and he can drop the fake smile that’s hurting his cheeks.

When he’s inside of Louis, so near his climax and dripping with sweat Louis looks up at him from underneath, eyes wide and glazed over, Zayn has to look away, and he thrusts in harder as if it will clear away the knot of guilt in his chest.

And now he can’t sleep, staring up at the ceiling like he’s been doing for the past few hours, imagining swirling patterns there. They’re blue, then green, then blue again. Not red, Zayn can’t stand red, so when he shuts his eyes and sees the veins in his eyelids glowing crimson he immediately opens them again, and gives up on sleep for tonight. He moves to get out of the bed, but he forgot that Louis’ arm was around him, and he hears a confused little noise from beside him.

“Hmm, babe, why are you awake?” He grumbles, eyes still closed and arms stretching out for Zayn.

“Just need a piss, babe. Go back to sleep.”

Louis protests a bit, tries to get Zayn to cuddle back up to him but eventually he gives up, snuggling back into the blankets and dropping off to sleep. Zayn does actually need a piss, so he goes to the bathroom and then when he’s finished moves to the couch, zapping with the TV on mute until finally settling on an infomercial channel. At least that won’t make him feel any guiltier.

\--

He wakes up to the sound of Louis’ bare feet pattering into the living room, and he sits up immediately. Huh, managed some sleep after all.

Louis is standing opposite the couch, wearing a fluffy bathrobe and looking very cosy. He’s staring at Zayn, that same look in his eyes that he sometimes gets, like their date in the pub. Zayn’s learned to ignore it, mostly, but it’s unsettling him a bit now.

“I, uh, I couldn’t sleep, so I went to watch some TV. Guess I fell asleep anyway.” He explains when Louis doesn’t say anything, and the moment is broken, Louis’s eyes going soft.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” he asks, sitting down next to Zayn and taking his arm, burrowing his face into Zayn’s chest.

“Dunno, just thinking too much, I guess.” Louis’ breath is tickling his bare chest as he leaves little kisses on his skin, moving slightly lower each time.

“Mhm.” Louis presses one last kiss to his stomach, before looking up. “I’ve been thinking, too, you know.”

“What about?”

“Well, this might be too soon, but fuck it.” Louis takes in a deep breath, and speaks so softly it’s almost a whisper “Do you want to go to my parent’s gala? Like, as my date?” He doesn’t look Zayn in the eye, like he’s afraid Zayn will say no, which is so unlike the self-assured, almost cocky Louis of their first date Zayn is almost worried.

He takes Louis’ jaw in his hands, caresses his cheekbone with his thumb. “Of course I’ll come, babe. You can finally show me that tailor of yours.”

\--

“Babe, you look good, stop fussing with your suit.” Louis tells Zayn, taking his hand to stop him from messing with his clothes. He presses a little kiss to it, intimacy welcome as Louis has been a bit distant from Zayn the past two days, always pulling away quickly after a kiss and moving away a little when Zayn sits too close to him.

It’s not worries about his appearance that’s making Zayn touch his (very well-fitting) suit, though: it’s the gun he’s hiding in the holster underneath it, heavy against his skin and making him feel nauseous when he thinks about its purpose. He’s thrown up twice today, something he hasn’t done since his first kill. Thoughts are swimming through his mind, making it hard for him to focus and giving him a splitting headache, and the guilt in his chest is heavy as an anvil, holding him down.

They spend the rest of the car ride in silence, but Louis holds onto Zayn’s hand even as it becomes clammy and starts shaking a little. Louis doesn’t comment on it, probably thinks it’s because Zayn’s nervous to meet his parents.

When they arrive at the venue, Louis lets go to button his jacket, and Zayn feels the loss immediately, grabbing Louis’ arm as soon as they get out of the car. His grip is probably too tight, but he can’t bring himself to care; he needs Louis to anchor him. Louis gives him a look that’s meant to be reassuring but it doesn’t really work, just makes the knot in Zayn’s stomach twist up a little tighter, but he means well so Zayn smiles back, hopes it doesn’t look too fake.

The gala is already pretty much in full swing when they arrive, but it’s still clear where the Tomlinsons are: there’s a table in the back of the room, viewing out over the dance floor. In the middle, Louis’ parents sit. He knows that P must have a reason for wanting to hurt them, but they look like perfectly fine people to Zayn. Then again, even if they were perfectly fine people, Zayn’s got little choice but to do what his employer tells him. He’s made sure that Zayn knows that very well. Still, it makes it harder for him to step forward when Louis tries to pull him along.

“Babe, I’m a bit nervous. Do you mind if I go for a smoke first? We can meet your parents after.” Louis looks a bit disappointed but he nods, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s cheek before pulling his arm, which Zayn is still holding onto almost desperately, free. He points to a door in the back, green glowing EXIT sign above it, and presses his lighter into Zayn’s hands.

“I know you always forget yours.”

\--

It’s better outside, but only slightly. The cold air helps with the headache but it does nothing to loosen the knot in his chest. He’s sitting on a crate, cigarette long burned out but he still hasn’t made sense of his thoughts, hasn’t made a decision, doesn’t even dare give a name to the feelings swirling around in his stomach.

“Hey.” Zayn’s pulled out of his thoughts as Louis steps through the back door and into the little alleyway, coming to sit next to Zayn.

“Hey.”

“You done smoking?” Louis asks, voice soft, like he knows how conflicted Zayn is feeling right now.

“Nah, pack’s just empty.”

“Want one of mine?” Louis offers, even though he smokes menthols and he knows Zayn doesn’t like the taste of them. Zayn nods and takes one anyway, plucking Louis’ own cigarette out of his mouth to light it. It takes a few tries as it’s a windy night and Zayn can’t be bothered to lift his other hand and cup it around the cigarette so that it doesn’t flicker out as easily.

“Thanks”

They smoke in silence. Zayn is grateful for the extra fag but the menthol taste is only adding to his nausea, and it’s hard to keep from scowling. He came out here to calm his mind but it’s not working and he knows why; it’s Louis, of course. He came to get away from Louis, to get his thoughts about him in order and it’s not helping that the very person he’s trying to make sense of is sitting right next to him, confusing him even more.

Zayn lets out a long sigh. He moves his hand to rest over the gun hidden beneath his suit jacket, and he can feel his erratic heartbeat through his shirt. The anvil is pressing down hard on his chest, nearly suffocating him now.  He could just be honest, tell Louis everything. He could even do _it_ now, just pull the trigger without saying anything, get it over with.

_You’ll never do it,_ a little voice in the back of his mind says. _It’s ridiculous that you’re even trying to make yourself believe it. You’re not gonna do it just like that, you’re not ever gonna do it._ It’s just that he’s a professional, or meant to be one anyway. He’s meant to be able to ignore his feelings, turn off all emotion, and so far he’s been pretty damn good at it. Normally, he just doesn’t care, not like he does now.

Louis moves a little closer, pressing their thighs together. Zayn can feel the warmth of his skin through their trousers, bleeding through slowly until it’s the only part of his body he can focus on, the only thing he can feel.

Might as well just say it, before the anvil crushes him.

“I’m supposed to kill you, you know.” His voice is trembling, belying the emotion he feels, the battle between his sense of duty and what he wants that is going on in his mind right now. He can’t look up, can’t look Louis in the eye. He knows he’ll see disgust there, or even worse, fear. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he knows that Louis is afraid of him.

He’s ruined everything now, he thinks, but then Louis speaks.

“I know.”

“You- what?” Zayn’s flabbergasted, sure he’s misheard, but Louis turns to look at him and there’s really no surprise in his eyes, nor anger or fear, just knowing. There’s this sort of weird, steely but wise look on his face. It’s different than anything he’s ever seen Louis look like and it’s frightening.

“I know, I’ve known for a while.”

“Then why are you here? Why aren’t you running away, why aren’t you getting your guard?”

“Because I know you won’t do it” Louis sounds so confident, but Zayn thinks he can see a slight flicker of doubt in his eyes: small but real. He moves even closer to Zayn, covers his hand, still on top of the gun, his other hand in Zayn’s hair, bringing their faces together. It reminds Zayn of their first kiss, though his emotions were so different then, so happy compared to the misery he is in now.

“Why won’t I do it?” Zayn breathes out.

“You know why not.” He licks his lips, breathing hard from the stress and their closeness. “You know, you really do.

Zayn wants to make Louis tell him, wants him to explain because it might also explain the mess that’s in his head, the feelings in his chest that he doesn’t have a name for, the swirling in his stomach and the heavy iron weight .“Why?”

“Because you’re in love with me.”

It’s ridiculous; they barely know each other, have hardly spent a week in each other’s company, but Zayn answers “Yes, I’m in love with you.” and it’s not a lie, it’s the honest truth, and the knot loosens- Zayn can breathe again.

Suddenly, there’s a loud bang and they startle apart, Zayn’s hand going for his gun immediately. There’s someone coming round the corner, but before Zayn can take aim, the person comes into sight, and he realizes it’s Niall.

“Niall, mate wha-”

“No time to talk, you need to leave.” Niall says urgently. Zayn freezes: he’s never seen him look this serious, not even during their first hits, when Niall was still his mentor, teaching him the trade.

“Why?” Zayn asks, confused. 

“There’s a guy P sent to make sure you were doing your job, he heard you, now move!” That startles Zayn out of his unmoving state, and he grabs Louis’ hand.

“Zayn, I know this isn’t what you want, but you should really leave Tomlinson here.” Niall says, eying their linked hands. “No offense, mate.”

“I’m not leaving him.” He’s only just figured it out, he’s not about to leave Louis now.

“Zayn, bro, this is for your own best, and his. If you’re not gonna kill him, you should leave now before P’s guys get to you. Which will be _very_ soon, if you don’t get going now!”

“Wait, why are you even here?” Zayn asks.

Niall looks a bit guilty at that, at least. “Because I was worried about you, okay. I knew your head was in the wrong place, and that’ll get you killed in this business.”

There’s some commotion behind them, then, in the direction of the street, and that’s probably P’s guys. They have very little time left now.

Niall seems to realise that, too, because he steps closer, grabbing Zayn’s arm and pushing something into his hand. When he looks down, Zayn sees it’s bank notes, and a lot of them. “Leave now, Zaynie, or I can’t help you, please!” Zayn opens his mouth to protest, against the money and the proposition but then Louis speaks, Louis who’s been silent this whole time.

“We should go.”

His voice is soft, and he’s not looking at Zayn or Niall, instead staring at the floor, but his face looks determined. When he finally looks up, Zayn can see tears glinting in his eyes, but also a kind of detachment, and he knows that Louis’ made a decision now, and nobody will stop him.

“Okay.”

\--

When Zayn wakes up the sun is shining through the curtains, almost at its highest point already. The light warms the room and casts a thin gold line onto the crumpled bed sheets, crossing Louis’ body. It hits his hair, making it shine like copper, and travels down his naked form, over the planes of his back and the softness of his ass, down his strong thighs and his muscular calves where it continues its path down the bed. Zayn has to stop himself from draping himself all over Louis, absorbing his warmth and feeling those muscles work underneath him as his boy wakes up.

Louis deserves his sleep, though. Last night was rough for the both of them.

He moves out of bed to check his phone, and sees that he’s got a text from Liam: _r u up? tried to ring u yestreday, worried now._

God, he misses Liam. Niall, too. It overwhelms him a bit, sometimes, even though it’s been two months now. Two months since they left everything known to them, chose each other and ran. It’s been so good, but also so bad, living on the run, always watching their backs.

They’re together, though. That’s what matters, and he doesn’t regret anything.

_were fine, had a run in, fixed it tho, safe now. u n niall shud come visit as soon as u can, miss u bro xZ_

There’s a rustling behind him, and he looks over. Louis is waking up, turning his head into the pillow with a little groan before turning around.

“Zayn? You awake, babe?” Louis calls from the bed, voice sleepy-soft and creaky, and when their eyes meet and a slow, warm smile spreads over Louis’ face Zayn thinks, yeah. No regrets.

 


End file.
